


Garanhão

by CaseyM



Series: Raven Encounters [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, F/M, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Spanking, pretty much pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyM/pseuds/CaseyM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah, well, let me tell you something,” Fusco snapped, leaning forward until they were nearly nose to nose.  “I’m guessing you don’t know this, with that face and all, but if a girl like her gives a mutt like me a shot, you can be damn sure I’m going to make it worth her while.”</p>
<p>Sofia Campos was right: Lionel Fusco is a stud. Proving it may cost him his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garanhão

**Author's Note:**

> This story stands alone, but is a sequel to "Raven", where the OFC was introduced to John Reese.

“How come you’re always dragging me to bars?” Fusco complained.

Reese rolled his eyes. “Lionel, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

He slid into a booth at the back and gestured for a draft. The barmaid brought two.  Fusco looked at his glass gloomily. He’d have preferred something harder. Still, the big guy was probably right. It was a nice bar, nestled on the ground floor of a Midtown hotel. The kind of bar where a draft goes ten bucks or so. He shrugged and drank. “So who we looking at tonight?”

“There’s no case tonight,” Reese said, taking a long drink. “Just figured I owe you a drink.”

“Just one?”

“Heard you might need some cheering up.”

Fusco growled. “Yeah. Sure.” He’d figured Reese or his friend would find out about Rhonda. He just didn’t walk to talk about it. Ever. “And a beer with you will make it all better.”

“You’re going to hurt my feelings, Lionel.”

“You got feelings, tough guy? Really?”

“Really.” John sighed. “I’m sorry about your girl.”

“Screw you.”

Reese took another long swallow of beer.  “I think I’ll pass.”

Fusco growled again.

“But I will tag in my alternate for you.”

“What?”

Reese stood up. Belatedly, Fusco realized that a woman had come over to their table. He scrambled to his feet, watched awkwardly while Wonder Boy kissed her on the cheek. She was really pretty. Then Reese turned with his arm around her and put her hand into Fusco’s. “Raven, this is Lionel. Lionel, Raven.”

_Raven?_ Fusco thought. That was a stripper name if ever he’d heard one. But she wasn’t dressed like a stripper. She looked nice. He managed to keep his mouth shut for once.  “Hello.”

She left her hand in his. “Hello.”

She was _really_ pretty. She had dark eyes, and dark hair caught in a long braid down her back. Her skin was pale. She was wearing one of those strapless sundresses with the tight bodice, with a short little sweater that kept it all modest. Almost. She definitely filled out the top. She had nice curves on her. But her makeup was subtle; if she was a stripper or a hooker, she was off-duty. She looked like somebody’s secretary or maybe a graduate student.

He couldn’t figure out exactly how old she was, which was weird, because that was so much a part of his job that is was automatic in his head.

She was studying him like she was actually interested.

Which was damn weird, since Mr. Tall Dark and Gets All the Girls was standing right next to her.

The barmaid came over with a third beer and put it on the table. Reese slipped her a folded bill. Then he kissed the woman on the cheek again, waved vague to Fusco, and left.

“Where you going?” Fusco called after him.

“Somewhere else,” Reese answered over his shoulder.

Fusco looked back at the woman. He was still holding her hand. She smiled warmly. “I … uh … “ he stammered uselessly. He took a deep breath. “Would you, um, like to sit down?”

“Yes.” She released his hand, sat down, and sipped at her beer.

He felt an overwhelming urge to lean over and lick the foam off her top lip. When her own tongue darted out to catch it, the sensation went straight to his crotch. He sat down quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Lionel said. “I didn’t know he planned to just dump us together like this.” It was coming together stupidly slowly in his head, that this was some kind of blind date. Or something. “If you want to leave, I would totally understand.”

“Why would I want to leave?”

Fusco gestured to himself. “Look, I know I’m not, you know, some kind of GQ  …”

She tilted her head and frowned, so clearly confused that made himself shut up again. He took a deep breath. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck here just because Won—John introduced us. If you’ve got somewhere else to be, that’s fine. I’m not gonna be hurt.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have somewhere else to be?”

“Me?” Fusco looked at his beer for a long moment. “No. I got nowhere else to be.”

The waitress brought them a tray of appetizers. It had four sections, with a different snack in each one. Tiny nachos and little two-bite wings that were probably boneless, deep-fried mushrooms and mozzarella sticks. She put down two small plates and a pile of napkins.

“Thanks,” Fusco called as she left. He looked back at the platter. It all smelled great, and his stomach growled in anticipation. But it was all so common, too. Bar food. Blue-collar food. And the woman was so pretty. Classy-looking. Even if she did have a stripper name.

He felt like a schmuck.

Raven picked up one of the wings and bit it in half. Somehow she made even that look classy. Fusco watched her pretty white teeth, and his cock twitched again. She licked the sauce off her fingertip and he had to stifle a groan.

If she was eating bar food, and enjoying it, he was allowed to, too. So he did. It gave him something else to focus on.

When he had a couple tiny nachos down, he wiped his mouth and asked, “So, how do you know John?”

“Harold introduced us a few months ago.”

“You know the Professor?” he asked in surprised.

“We are old friends, yes.” She picked up a mushroom, then dropped it onto her plate. “Hot. How do you know them?”

“I tried to kill the big guy once,” Fusco admitted. He hoped it came out sounding like a joke.

She smiled. “That is something we have in common, then. Did you succeed?”

He frowned at her. “Come again?”

Raven picked up the mushroom and popped it into her mouth. “You have a broken heart,” she announced simply.

Fusco picked up his own mushroom and bit into it without waiting. She was right; it was too hot. He took a long swig of beer to cool it off. It let him stall for time. “John told you that?”

“He didn’t have to.”

“So this is what, some kind of pity date?” he snapped.

She wasn’t bothered by his tone. “This is new friends having a beer. Perhaps later it will be something more.”

_Reese hired me a hooker,_ Fusco realized suddenly. _That miserable son of a bitch hired me a hooker. And he probably put in on the Professor’s credit card._ He was angry and embarrassed and humiliated. Maybe he didn’t wear custom-made suits, but he was perfectly capable of hiring his own hookers, if he wanted one. _Who the hell did he think he was?_

But on the other hand — it was weirdly touching. She was a very nice hooker, pretty and well-spoken and clean and pleasant. One of those up-scale outcall girls, he was sure. Probably out of his price range, just like this bar. But she wasn’t quite over the top, either. She was a step up, but not too big of a step.  

Mr. Glasses had probably picked her out special for him.

He’d done a good job of it.

It was a little creepy to think that John’s genius boss had spent that much time thinking about Fusco, to know exactly what kind of prostitute would appeal to him. And on the other hand, again, it was weirdly touching.

What do you buy the detective who has almost nothing and just got dumped by his girlfriend?

Fusco didn’t know what the hell to do with himself. He ate a boneless wing, and then another one. The waitress brought them more beer.

And then, because what the hell, she’d probably been paid to spend the night with him anyhow, he said, “Can I ask you something? Some advice? You know, from a woman’s perspective?”

“Of course.”

“This woman I was seeing, Rhonda. I really like her. But she, um …” He paused and considered. He wasn’t usually one to air his dirty laundry like this. But a prostitute was like a bartender or a counselor, in Fusco’s mind. Good listeners, usually discrete. And she’d probably rather sit here and drink beer than get naked with him, anyhow. She didn’t look like she minded taking the time. “She had this boyfriend. They were together for like, four years. Broke up eight months ago. Then he calls her last week, says he still loves her, wants to get back together. Give it another try.”

Raven nodded.  “You don’t believe him.”

Fusco made a face. “He lost his job a while back. I think he’s looking for a place to stay. Roof over his head, free meals. You know?”

“Ahh. But she cares for him?”

“I don’t know.” He drank again. “I don’t know if she cares for him or she just feels sorry for him or what. She said she didn’t want to have wasted all that time on him. And I get that, I guess. I just … I don’t know. I just let her walk out. I don’t know if I was supposed to fight for her or what. I just let her walk.”

 “If you fought for her, would you win?”

“I don’t know.” Fusco stared into his beer mug. “Maybe. But here’s the thing. I didn’t want to talk her into staying and then six months down the road maybe we’re having a fight and all the sudden she’s thinking she should have gone back to the other guy when she had the chance. See what I mean?”

“You wanted to be sure she’d have no regrets, either way.”

“Yeah, that. Exactly.” Fusco nodded. Hooker or not, he liked this woman. “If I got her to stay with me, maybe she’d always wonder.”

“You did the right thing.” Raven chewed a mushroom.  “If it doesn’t work out with this man, would you take her back?”

“In a heartbeat. Which sounds stupid, I know. But I really like her. _Really_ like her. And I get this, I guess. She’s got four years in with the guy, if it works out … yeah, fine, I wish them well. But if it doesn’t? I’d take her back.”

“Did you tell her that?”

Fusco smirked. “No. I got a _little_ pride left. Not a lot, but a little.”

“You should tell her.”

 “I should?”

“You asked for my advice. Call her, just once. Tell her exactly what you told me. That you wanted to fight for her, but you put her happiness before your own. That you care for her. That you wish her well. And that if it doesn’t work out, you’d be willing to talk about another chance for the two of you.” Her mouth quirked up a little. “If you’re still available, of course.”

“Of course.” He smiled back. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Not like I got women lining up to be with me.”

“There are more than you know.”

“Yeah, right.” That sounded like standard hooker flattery to him. Not that he minded.

“Our waitress has looked you over twice now since I’ve been here. If you were alone, she’d likely slip you her number.”

Fusco grinned. “Yeah, bullshit.”

“I suspect there are others that you do not notice, because you do not expect them.”

“Sure, sure. Now pull my other leg.”

She sat back, studied him. “Someone has wounded you. Not this last one. Someone else. To make you doubt yourself this way.”

_Not just one someone,_ Fusco thought _. A bunch of someones. Tell a guy he’s the runt for long enough, sure, he’ll start to believe it._ He shrugged. “Maybe so.”

“Hmmm.” Raven wiped her hands carefully on a napkin, then folded it and set it aside. “While you wait for your Rhonda, is it your intention to remain celibate?”

_Damn, she even sounds like the Professor._ Fusco smirked again. “I dunno. I mean, technically we’re broke up, so it’s not like I’m cheating. But like I said, it’s not like I’ve got ‘em lined up, either.”

“I have a room upstairs. I would like you to share my bed tonight. If you like.”

Fusco blinked. He’d known they were headed that way — well, he’d been pretty sure — but he hadn’t expected her to be quite that blunt. And the way she’d phrased it was oddly formal, polite. Professor-style, definitely. Still, she was a working girl, no matter how big her price tag was, and time was money, right?

Except — there was something in her eyes. Fusco had known a lot prostitutes, some as a customer and some as an arresting officer. Except for the tweakers, who were a whole different breed, hookers had one thing in common: They were bored. And when it came to sex, they were _really_ bored. It was just a job to them. The frank interest in Raven’s eyes caught him off guard and made him doubt his assessment.

And he was going to look like an idiot either way, so he might as well get it off the table right now. He leaned forward and spoke softly. “Just so we’re clear. You’re a pro, right?”

_If she’s not,_ he realized too late, _she’s going to slap you right into next week. And you’ll deserve it, too._

She didn’t slap him. She smiled. “I am, at times. I’m not working tonight.”

Fusco frowned. “Then what … you owe John some kind of favor or something? Is that it?”

“If I owed John a favor, I would have invited _him_ to share my bed.”

She still didn’t seem angry. Fusco thought, with great honesty, _I have no idea what’s going on here._ She smelled wonderful. Not perfume, exactly, but something. Something that made him wonder why he was still sitting there talking instead of trying to cop a feel on the way to her room. “Have you done that?” he asked, grasping for logic. “With him?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re what, slumming? Trading down? What?”

Raven pushed the food aside and moved their beer glasses, clearing the table between them. Then she leaned on it as well, so their faces were only a few inches apart. “John is a Thoroughbred,” she pronounced simply. “Long-limbed, hot-blooded, smooth-gaited. And he is highly enjoyable, in his way. But so too is a man who is more sturdy.”

“Sturdy,” Fusco repeated carefully. He had the sense that word should have hurt, but her eyes stayed kind, interested. “Is that nice-girl code for fat?”

“Sturdy,” she repeated patiently. “Strong and firm and solid and … thick.”

“Thick.” Somehow the word sounded wonderfully filthy. And it was actually a damn accurate description. His pants were way too tight over his crotch suddenly. “How do you know I’m _thick_?”

“I can tell by your fingers.” She dropped her hand onto his and stroked the length of his index finger with her whole hand. The sensation ran straight to his cock. “And your tongue.”

“My … tongue?” 

“Yes.”

He watched her watch his mouth, and realized suddenly that she’d been doing that for the whole time they’d been sitting together. She wanted his tongue. Raven _wanted._

_Why the fuck am I still sitting here talking?_

But he couldn’t move now, because her fingers were playing over his hand and it was somehow the most erotic thing he’d ever felt. Just hands. God help him when she got to his …

The tip of her tongue traced along her bottom lip absently. Her eyes came up to meet his again. “Upstairs?” she asked hopefully.

“I still don’t get this. Women like you don’t just …”

Raven leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were soft, undemanding, and her tongue tickled against his gently and then withdrew.

“Check!”

 ***

The check had already been paid. Of course. Fusco left a twenty as a tip and followed the woman out to the lobby and onto the elevator. They were alone there. Raven put her hands behind her and leaned into the corner, carefully away from him. He didn’t know quite what to make of that, but he gave her some space. “Look, what I said before, when I asked if you were a pro, I didn’t mean to … you know …”

“I don’t mind,” Raven assured him. “And you’re not wrong.”

“It’s just, I’m not used to … you’re just really pretty and I …” He waved his hands stupidly. “God, I wish I could say something intelligent.”

She smiled warmly. “I have that effect on men sometimes.”

“I bet. I just don’t want to be a jerk.”

“Why?”

“Why do I not want to be a jerk?”

“Is it because of John?”

“What? No.” Fusco shook his head. “I just don’t.” The elevator stopped. He held the door open for her, followed her into the corridor. “And look. Look.” He caught her hand, stopped her. “You are really nice and I really like you, but you don’t have to do this. I mean, just because Mr. Wonderful introduced us and whatever …”

“Do you not want to be with me?” Her expression was puzzled and hurt.

“No, no. I’m not saying that. That’s the _last_ thing I’m saying right now.” He pulled on her hand gently and she moved closer. “I just … I still don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated. Or whatever.”

“Lionel.” She put her palms flat on his chest. “You are a good and honorable man …”

“No, I’m not. I’m a nasty little shit. Didn’t John tell you?”

“He told me that you were his friend, and that he thought you needed to get laid almost as much as I did.”

“John said that.”

“Yes.”

“And what else?”

“He didn’t need to tell me anything else.”

She cocked her head, apparently puzzled by his resistance. Fusco didn’t blame her. There was a part of his brain absolutely screaming now, _why the fuck are you still talking?_

“You know, don’t you,” she continued gently, seriously, “this this is just sex? Good sex, probably very good, but in the morning I’ll be gone, and chances are that you’ll never see me again. You understand that?”

“Yeah, I got that.” Fusco shrugged. “I just don’t want you to … I dunno.”

Raven sighed patiently. “Give me a dollar.”

“What?”

“Give me a dollar.”

Fusco fumbled for his wallet. “Okay. Why?”

“You asked if I was a professional. I said I was off the clock. But if you’re going to be this difficult to persuade, I’m going to run the meter. So give me a dollar.”

“I … what?” He opened his wallet, took the opportunity to check that his standard single condom was there, and damn near dropped it, fishing for a dollar bill. “What do I get for a dollar?”

Raven met his eyes squarely. “Anything you want, until sunrise.”

“Anything?” The look in her eyes made him catch his breath.

“Yes.”

“For a dollar?”

“Friends and family discount.”

He grinned softly. “All I have is a five.”

“Ohh, a big tipper. Nice.” Raven took the bill and tucked it into her bodice. “Can I kiss you again?”

It was stupid, but something in Fusco’s head relaxed. The sheer playfulness of that five bucks made it okay, somehow. “Sweetheart, you can kiss me as much as you want.”

She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, slowly. Lionel was very aware now of how thick his tongue felt, compared to hers; it was like a hummingbird kissing a goose. But she seemed to enjoy the difference. To revel in it. He let her do whatever she wanted. He liked whatever she wanted. He tried to give back, but he felt hopelessly outclassed. Like he’d never kissed a girl before …

And then somehow he got it. Suddenly his thick tongue was answering hers, covering hers, gently overpowering, then submitting.  She nodded without breaking the kiss. He felt her hands slide across his ribs, settle on his lower back. His owns hands were on her waist, but he drew her closer, slid one hand up her back and onto the bare skin between her shoulder blades. He pressed  and she shifted and they were perfect.

Two businessmen pushed past them in the corridor. Neither said anything, but Fusco thought he could feel their disapproval. He lifted his head and looked after them; one of them glanced back and winked. Not disapproval. Envy.

He wasn’t used to being envied. He liked it.

Raven handed him a plastic card. Fusco took it, followed her gesture, opened the room door.

It was a nice room. Big. King-sized bed, love seat, desk. Two big arm chairs with a little side table between them. It smelled clean, though he knew that was just some kind of spray that housekeeping used. Still, everything was pretty new and the carpet wasn’t worn down, even around the bed.

Nice.

Fusco knew damn good and well that he was cataloging the room’s furniture because it took his mind of his raging erection. It helped, but not much. He was going to have to move on to hockey statistics pretty soon.

He stood next to the bed and emptied his pockets onto the bedside table. There was a tray there, with a pitcher of ice water and two glasses with little hotel paper caps on them. He dropped his badge and wallet, cell phone and car keys next to the tray. He hesitated with his service weapon. But if Reese had wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t have bothered with a middle-man. Or woman. Still, he opened the drawer and dropped the weapon inside.

Besides the Gideons Bible in the drawer, there were three condoms, his size, and a bottle of ‘skin lotion’ that he was quite certain could be used as lube.

_Well,_ he thought, _she did say she was a pro._ And while the items made him blush, they also assured him that he was in good hands. As it were. He pushed the drawer closed.

Fusco took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the armchair. Raven reached past him and put her own little sweater over the top of it. He half-turned and put his hand on her now-bare shoulder. He wasn’t sure why that was so exciting, that bit of bare skin, but it was. He leaned and kissed her shoulder. “How do you want to do this?” he asked, his mouth still against her.

Raven turned her back was to him. “Take my hair down.”

Lust surged through Fusco’s body again, and again he couldn’t have said exactly why. His hands trembled. He slid the hair tie off the end of her braid and tossed it onto the table. His fingers felt too fat — too _thick_ , he reminded himself — for the task. He worked slowly, from the bottom up, trying not to pull any of the strands. Her hair tumbled like silk over his hands. He stroked through it, mesmerized. Something about her trust, allowing him to touch her this way …

She sighed in pleasure. “Thank you.” She turned and gently body-checked him into the wall. Her hands roamed over his chest and she kissed him.

Fusco leaned back and let his weight rest on the wall. He shifted his feet a little and Raven moved hers between them. She leaned in, her whole body pressed against his, and he was a little embarrassed that she could feel his erection, but she didn’t seem to mind; she rolled her hips, encouraging. The kissing in the hall had been good, but this went to a whole new level. This was sex kissing.

He groaned. He got his hands on her back again and slid one down to the base one her spine, pressing her closer. The other he slid upward, through her miraculous hair, and cradled the back of her head.

Raven’s hands were all over him. Every place they touched felt good, and when the brushed his nipples they felt great. She didn’t linger anywhere, and he liked that, too.

She got a hold of his tie and tried to undo it. It came off in her hand and she giggled against his mouth, surprised. “It’s a cop thing,” Fusco said, a little defensive about his clip-on. “For safety.”

“I know,” she answered cheerfully. “I forgot.” She dropped the tie onto the table. Then her hands were back on his body. At his shirt buttons. On his face. Everywhere.

She got one hand between them and grabbed his cock through his pants. Fusco jumped and groaned again.

Her hand slid, measuring, weighing. From the noise she made, she liked what she found. Fusco sure as hell liked how she handled it. He gasped against her mouth.

“Please,” she murmured.

_Please what?_ Fusco wondered wildly. “Anything,” he managed to answer. “Anything you want.”

Raven’s mouth curved into a smile against his. “Thank you,” she said again. She swayed a little, side to side, until he moved his feet wider. Then she slid down to her knees.

_Oh_ , Fusco thought, surprised, _please that. Okay._

But even while she unbuckled his belt, he started to worry again. He was hung like a beer can, his ex-wife used to tell him, and he couldn’t argue. Not especially long, definitely thick.  His ex also used to tell him that unless he met a woman who could unhinge her jaw like a big snake, no one was getting that fat thing into her mouth. He couldn’t argue with that, either. “Don’t …” he began. Then Raven was through his clothes and had his bare cock in her warm hand and he couldn’t speak.

“Don’t what?” she murmured. She worked his pants further open with one hand, fondled his shaft with the other. Her mouth was busy kissing and nuzzling and tasting.

“I know it’s kinda … fat,” he stammered. “If you can’t … don’t hurt yourself. Your mouth. It’s okay …”

Raven got both hands around the shaft then and stroked from base to crown firmly. She smiled, delighted. “I’ll manage,” she promised. She set to nibbling again, her lips firm on his scrotum, his shaft, the ridge, top and bottom, everywhere. She wasn’t in any hurry; she seemed to be exploring.

She seemed to like what she’d found.

Fusco put his hands behind his own ass, trapped them against the wall, because what he wanted to do was reach for her, grab her head, and he was already getting way more than he’d expected and that would just be too much.

He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and thought about hockey. Players’ names, numbers, positions, statistics. Anything but the amazing things this woman was doing to him with her hands and her lips and her tongue …

And then her lips were sliding firmly over the crown, circling it, and her tongue was darting against his slit, dancing over his opening, and she was taking him.

Fusco opened his eyes and looked down at her. Her lips were pale, stretched over his red erection. He could feel the hardness of her teeth, the sharp edges, but he didn’t have any fear that she’d bite. She slid downward, taking him deeper. Her hands were still working him, too, one on his shaft, the other cupping and caressing his balls. It was an unbearable amount of stimulation, and he felt his cock begin to leak despite all the hockey scores in his head.

She made a small noise, a hum not of displeasure but of excitement, and Fusco felt himself jolt toward climax. “Stop, stop,” he said quickly.

Raven drew off slowly. Her hand came up to cover his cock were her mouth had been. He had the odd, sweet notion that she didn’t want it to get cold. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it,” Fusco vowed. “I like it a lot. But I’m not sixteen any more. You keep that up, you’re not going to get f-laid any time soon.”

His cock continued to leak pre-cum over her fingers. Her tongue darted out to lick it away. “Is there somewhere you have to go tonight?”

“N-no. No.”

“Then let me taste you.” She took him in her mouth again.

Fusco groaned out loud.

Raven reached back and took his wrists, pulled his hands out from behind him. She guided them to her head. Fusco held his breath and laced his fingers into her wonderfully silky hair. He still managed to be still, to not thrust, to not force her head forward. Her mouth was as full of his cock as it could be anyhow. But then she put her hands on his ass and pulled him sharply forward.

He was nearly lost right then. He managed to hold back. But when she groaned in pleasure, it was over. He gave in to her urging and rolled his hips forward. His hands tightened on the back of her head and he thrust against her, against that beautiful willing mouth, against the back of her throat. She moaned again, loudly. Her hands tightened on his ass. He thrust, and she met him with enthusiasm. Fusco felt the pressure building one last time, felt his balls grow hot and pull up. “Raven,” he warned.

She made a noise, welcoming, pleading, and he came so hard that his vision went black around the edges and his head swam.

Raven took every thrust, drank every spurt of semen.

Fusco let his head loll back against the wall.

When he could see again, he looked down at her. She was tonguing his flaccid cock, licking him clean. His hands were still in her hair. He tightened them, turned her face up to look at him. “Are you okay?”

She smiled brightly. “Yes. Thank you.” She tucked his cock neatly back into his boxers.

“Thank _you_.” He shook his head, trying to clear it, and drew her to her feet. “Wow.”

He dropped into the arm chair and pulled her toward him. Raven smoothed her skirt and sat primly on his lap. She still had the pretty sundress on; for some reason Fusco was surprised by that. He ran his hands over her bare shoulder and down her arm. He was still dazed, lightheaded. “That was amazing.”

She leaned forward, poured a glass of water from the pitcher and held it to his lips. He drank, and then she did. Then she kissed him. She tasted like ice water, and like him.

He might not been a teenager any more, but his cock stirred vaguely with interest anyhow.

Fusco was beginning to catch his breath, but he noted that Raven was still panting. After a stupidly long time, he realized that the tight bodice of her dress was _very_ tight. He reached around the back, looking for a zipper. Instead he found that it laced.

“How in the hell do I get you out of this thing?” he murmured.

She turned so that her back was to him again. “It’s easier if you …”

Fusco found two big hooks at the top of the laces and undid them.

“… unlace it before you undo the hooks.” She laughed. “Or you can do it the hard way.”

 “I’ll figure it out,” he grumbled. Untying the tight lace was hard enough. It was knotted; it had to be, to hold the bodice that tight. His fingers felt fat and clumsy. He worked at it impatiently. It occurred to him to be very glad that the woman had already sucked him off. He doubted even Wonder Boy could have gotten the knot out while trying to deal with a raging erection, too. “How’d you even get into this thing?”

“I had help.”

That simply announcement sent jolts to places on Fusco’s body that should have still been sleeping. He paused for an instant, then shrugged and continued.

He thought about asking who’d helped her, but if there was one thing he’d learned from being a cop, it was to never ask questions that he didn’t really want the answer to. An image flickered through his mind of Finch, his mouth tight in concentration, his quick hands yanking this woman into this impossibly tight torture device for Fusco’s benefit …

He finally got the knot loose, and unlacing was easy after that.

Raven’s skin beneath the corset was dead pale and damp with sweat. There were long vertical lines, bright red and angry. “Holy crap,” he murmured, touching them with his fingers. “What are these?”

“They’re from the boning.”

“The what?”

She giggled. “The stays. In the corset.”

Fusco opened his palm and rubbed the marks on her back lightly. “Don’t they hurt?”

“A little.”

“So why did you let — whoever — lace it so tight?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Because I like the way it hurts.”

“Uh-huh.” _After what’s already gone down,_ Fusco thought, _I really shouldn’t be surprised that I have a lap full of kinky here._ But there was something about the contrast, between her fresh face and the things her mouth could do, between her pretty flowered sundress and the cruel bondage that wearing it required, that made him a little dizzy all over again. 

He continued to caress the lines on her back. The redness began to fade, but they were still hot to the touch. On a whim, he reached over and took an ice cube from the cup. He ran it over the long vicious stripe on her skin with one hand while he pulled the last of the lace free with the other. The back of the bodice fell away to her waist.

Raven arched her back and murmured in appreciation.

Fusco swept her hair forward over her shoulder and leaned to kiss the back of her neck. The ice melted away in his hand and he reached for another piece. Raven twisted a little, and he felt stupid when he realized that anything tight enough to leave marks like that on her back would also leave them on her front.

And the front probably hurt more.

He took her shoulder and tried to turn her. “C’mere,” he said.

Raven stood up and turned the front of the bodice down below her waist. The five dollar bill fluttered out onto the floor. Her bare breasts were perfect, Fusco thought. Or would have been perfect if they hadn’t been marred by the cruel rest stripes left by the corset.

The marks started at her waist and ran straight up across her nipples, ending below her collar bone.

 “Poor baby,” he whispered. He leaned forward and caught her hips, drew her closer. Raven straddled his legs and sat on his knees, facing him. He touched his lips to the top of one of the stripes, then kissed his way lightly downward to the curve of her breast. He could feel the heat of the mark in his lips. He reached her nipple, already erect and probably sore, and kissed it very gently.

Raven sat bolt upright, arching again, pressing her breast against his lips.

It had to hurt, Fusco thought, but she liked it that way. He parted his lips and sucked the nipple in, still very lightly. Then he brushed his fat — thick — tongue over her poor abused nub.

She made a quiet noise and her body stiffened again, thrust again. He put his hands on her waist and held her still. “Easy,” he murmured. “Easy.” He lifted slightly and she came up on her knees. He left her nipple and kissed as far down the nasty mark as he could go. Then he shifted, started at the bottom of the mark on the other side, and kissed his way upward.

Again when he reached the nipple she pressed for more. Again he licked it gently and continued upward.

When he got to the top she caught his face between her hands and kissed him deeply. Her fingers laced through his hair. Her thumb traced along the edge of his ear. But her tongue owned him. There was a deep hunger in her kiss, and Fusco felt his body respond to it.

She tried to push his shirt off. She’d gotten it unbuttoned, but his arms were still in the sleeves. He wore a t-shirt under it. Her hands ran over his chest like she was trying to learn him, so she’d always know him in the dark. He gasped when her fingertips brushed his nipples, and she pinched them both, just hard enough to almost hurt. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, twisting away from her. “Slow down, honey. We got all night, remember?”

Raven made a desperate noise and kissed him again, hard.

Desire surged through Fusco’s body, through his cock, undeniable. But something else surfaced in his mind. If being over forty meant he couldn’t fuck a woman ten minutes after she sucked him off, it also meant that he didn’t have to rush. There were benefits. And this woman, this pretty, kinky, impossibly nice woman, had already given him more satisfaction that he’d expected. He had time to give back a little.

He caught her slender wrists and moved her hands off his chest. “Easy.”

She licked her lips, struggled a little against his grasp. “But I want …”

“I’ll give you what you want,” Fusco promised. “But you took my five bucks, remember? You said I could have anything _I_ wanted?”

Raven’s eyes darkened for the first time, a little frown of doubt that didn’t reach her mouth.

Fusco chuckled. “Don’t worry, honey. I don’t think I’m anywhere near as kinky as you are.”

Her expression lightened, just that fast. “You could be, if you let yourself be.”

_She might be right,_ he though.That was something he might think about, in the future. But for the moment, a little very light kink would do. He released her hands and took a long sip of ice water. Without swallowing, he leaned and kissed the top of one of the fading stripes again.

Raven’s hands went right back to his chest.

Fusco swallowed. “No,” he said firmly.  He caught her wrists again, transferred them to one hand, and grabbed his clip-on tie off the table with the other. He looped the tie haphazardly around her two wrists and tied it with a granny knot. It wouldn’t really hold her; it wouldn’t have really held a toddler. But it was enough.

Her eyes went very dark, not with fear.

Fusco lifted her bound hands and put them behind his head. “Now let’s try this again,” he said. He took an ice cube under his tongue this time and bent to kiss and lick at her wounded breasts. Raven gasped and came up on her knees, straining against him; she laced her fingers into his hair, caressed his neck, but she didn’t attempt to escape from her makeshift bondage.

“Good girl,” he breathed against her skin. He smoothed his thumbs over the creases on her ribs as he kissed and nibbled at her breasts. The lines still felt hot, and the touch had to hurt, but she didn’t object. The last of the ice melted away under his tongue. Fusco opened his mouth wide and took in not only her left nipple but as much of her breast as he could. He closed down, letting her feel his teeth without really biting, and lashed at her hard nub with his cool tongue.

Raven’s response startled him. Her body stiffened in his arms. Her hands grasped at his head, pulling his hair, scraping with her fingernails. Her torso thrust against him in waves; he put one arm around her waist to steady her, control her. She made a high keening sound. A needy sound.

Women who could reach climax just from having their breasts touched, Fusco thought, were mythical, like unicorns. But then, women who could deep throat a guy who was hung like a beer can — and enjoy it —were pretty much mythical, too, and she’d already proven she was one of them. He clamped his teeth a little, enough to leave a mark. She made a little panting sound, on the edge.

Fusco sucked, hard, and lashed at her nipple with his tongue as fast as he could. Her whole body shuddered as she came.

He released her breast slowly and looked up. Raven’s hands were still tied, but she grabbed the back of his head and turned his face up to kiss him. Her kiss was every bit as intense as his tongue had been. “Please,” she said softly. “Please.”

“Soon,” he promised.

He was lying and he knew it. This was way too much fun to end it any time soon.

He put his hands on her knees, on either side of his hips, and slid them upward under her dress. He expected to encounter panties of some kind when he got to her waist, at least a thong strap, but there was nothing but firm skin under his hands. “What, are you not wearing anything under this?”

 “I took them off before I came down to the bar.”

_That was a little thrill, too_ , Fusco thought. _At the table, licking barbeque  sauce off her finger tips, totally commando._ Damn, but this woman got to him. “Why?”

“In case you wanted to fuck in the elevator.”

Fusco’s cock forgot how old it was and jumped.

“And you’d do that?” he asked. “With a stranger, in an elevator?”

“Yes.” Raven smiled sweetly. “We can go now, if you want.”

_What an interesting arrest report that would make if we got caught,_ he thought fleetingly. “Ah, no. I think we’re good right here.”

“Okay.”

The smile remained. She was playing with him. Mostly. “I ought to spank your pretty little ass for that,” he said, as gruffly as he could manage.

She wiggled. Her skirt was still pulled down, and while Fusco’s pants were undone, his cock was inside his boxers a while ago. There was still plenty of friction between them. “Okay,” she said again.

He knew why John liked her so well. She was a world-class flirt, just like he was. A tease. Except — he got the feeling if he called her bluff, she wouldn’t back down. The very _strong_ feeling.

He’d never spanked anyone before, not erotically. He’d seen it in some porno movies. It had seemed interesting, but not enough to go out and pursue it. Hell, he was happy enough if he just got laid, never mind all the frills and add-ons. But right here and now, with a pretty woman half-way out of her dainty  flowered sundress, straddling his lap, grinding on him lightly, her lips starting to bruise and her breasts still striped from her self-imposed (mostly) bondage …

What had she said? _I like the way it hurts._

He took her hands from behind his head, scooted forward in the chair, and manhandled her until she was face-down across his lap. Raven squealed, but not in protest. She liked it.

Fusco wondered if there was anything she didn’t like.

He flipped her skirt up over her bare back and brought one big meaty hand down on her round little ass. It made a kind of flat slapping sound, not very impressive. When he lifted his hand, there was no mark. “Like that?” he asked carefully.

“Harder,” Raven said.

He’d known that would be her answered. He’s just needed to hear it.

He lifted his hand again and slapped her ass, hard. This time it made a loud, satisfying crack. When he lifted his hand away, there was a distinct red mark. “Like that?”

“Yes.”

He spanked her again. She jumped this time, squirmed. Fusco moved his foot —he couldn’t imagine how he still had his shoes on — and stepped on the end of the tie, keeping her hands still. She could still get away easily enough, of course, but she remained bound. He raised his hand a third time.

Raven made a sound, soft, moaning. Lionel paused, resting his hand on her hot skin, half-caressing. His cock was fully erect now, pressing against the side of her hip. But it wasn’t urgent; there was still time. No hurry about anything.

He continued to spank her. He shifted slightly, so that each blow struck a slightly different spot. After a dozen sharp smacks, her pretty ass was red from side to side, top to bottom. The noise Raven made had grown louder, then softer, and now she’d gone almost still, reacting with just a little jump and whimper every time his hand landed.

Fusco stopped and smoothed his hand over her reddened skin. She shuddered softly. He didn’t know for sure what to make of that. He took his foot off the tie, but she didn’t attempt to move. Still his, he decided, to do with whatever he wanted.

He dipped his fingers into the ice water and smoothed it over the curve of her rump. Raven shuddered again, tensing, but she didn’t attempt to move. “You like that?” he asked quietly.

Raven whimpered. It sounded like a yes. He dipped his fingers again, spread the droplets more widely across the curves of her ass. The redness began to fade a bit, the heat to ease away.

The third time he sprinkled drops of water on her, a bit trickled down the crack of her ass and Raven thrashed suddenly.

_Really?_ Fusco thought, fascinated.  He put one hand flat on her back, holding her in place. He ran his other fingers, still cold and damp, along the path the water had taken. Her ass clenched, then relaxed. He traced along her crack, past her rear opening, and touched her cunt. She was very wet. He paused, just the very tip of his finger inside her. “Here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed. She shifted a little, opening her legs, giving him room.

He advanced his finger half an inch. She was very tight, but slick, warm. “You sure?”

“Pleasssssse,” Raven whimpered.

Fusco pushed a little further, up to the second knuckle. “You like thick fingers.”

“Yes.”

“More?”

“Yes. Please yes.”

He shoved his finger all the way inside her. She gasped and her smooth muscles clenched at him. Then he simply held there, motionless again. Raven moaned, got her feet under her, tried to thrust against him.

“Shhhh,” he said. “Keep still.”

“Can’t. I can’t.”

“Try.” He rubbed her back with his other hand. “Try for me. Be still, just for a minute.”

She stayed mostly still, except that her breathing grew shorter — he could feel her panting against his leg — and she shuddered at irregular intervals. Fusco used the moment to gather his own wits. To run through a few hockey stats in his head. To just plain catch his breath.

Raven whimpered.

He withdrew his finger almost completely, then thrust into her fast and hard. She climaxed just that easily. He pumped his finger slowly, gently, drawing the little orgasm out. When her tunnel stopped squeezing his finger, he drew nearly out again, added a second finger, and drove both inside her. She came again, squealing between clenched teeth, thrashing. He drew it out again.

When the noises she made turned from pleasure to something like pain, he stopped, withdrew his fingers slowly, and rubbed her ass firmly. “So. From now on we wear panties in public, right?”

She giggled. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He got his hands around her and stood up, then set her on her feet. She stood unsteadily, and he kept one arm around her. It was more than a little gratifying to know he’d made her weak in the knees. He slipped the tie off her wrists and dropped it on the side table again. “I’ll tie you up again if you make me,” he warned.

Raven gazed at him dreamily. “Okay.”

Lionel pushed her unfastened dress all the way down and helped her step out of it. She still had her shoes on, strappy little sandals. There was something kinky about that, those long bare legs and those little gold shoes. He left them on for the moment. He held her with one hand, turned down the bed with the other. Then he lowered her onto her back, sideways, her legs dangling over the edge of the mattress.

She looked up at him, her eyes still unfocused, dark with pleasure. “Please, will you fuck me now?”

“Soon.” He gazed down at her. She was astonishingly beautiful. She’d been pretty, downstairs in the bar. But here, stretched out on white sheets, naked, she was exquisite. Her hair spread like a veil beneath her shoulders. Her long slender arms. Her graceful neck. Her delicious soft breasts, still bearing the faintest of red stripes and gentle indents from his teeth. Her tapering ribs, her widening hips. The narrow strip of dark curls between her legs. Her trim, muscular thighs. Her elegant calves, her graceful ankles. And those pretty little sandals.

He let his eyes travel back to her face. She was watching him from under heavy lids. Her eyes were dark, warm, interested. Her lips were red and definitely bruised, and smiling gently.

Raven looked entirely _ripe_. And she was his for the picking.

Fusco peeled off his shirt and dropped it over the back of the chair. He followed with his t-shirt. He toed his shoes off, pushed his pants to the floor. Bent to peel off his boxers, and got his socks off while he was down there. He left them all in a heap on the floor. He straightened back up. His cock was fully erect.

The woman was motionless, watching him intently.

For a moment, Fusco’s confidence failed. “Not much to look at,” he muttered, gesturing at himself.

Raven licked her lips. It was all the answer he needed. She held her arms out to him. “Please, come and fuck me.”

He stepped closer to the bed, caught one of her legs behind the knee, and lifted her foot to his chest. He worked the delicate gold strap free and slipped the sandal off. Then he rubbed the sole of her foot firmly with his thumbs. Raven groaned in appreciation. He took his time. Then he lowered that foot gently and did the same with the other.

She was still watching him. Her breath grew short again. _Are you kidding me?_ Fusco thought. He brought her foot up higher and bit her big toe.

Raven squealed and tried to roll over, tried to escape. Lionel released her toe, but kept hold of her ankle. He slid his hand up her calf to catch her knee again. Then he kept moving, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh. He put one knee on the bed beside her, one hand beside her head to support his weight as he leaned over her. He lowered himself onto the mattress and traced his free hand up to her slit again. She tried to close her legs. He threw his other leg over her thigh and held her, eased all the way down so he was lying beside her.

He drew small, light circles over her clit with his fingertip. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met,” he said, nuzzling against her ear, “who liked my big fat fingers on her this much.”

She turned her face and caught his mouth with her own, kissed him desperately. “Please, please …” She tried to roll her body toward him. Fusco stretched his foot out, trapped her other knee, held her in place. She lifted her face and looked at him, her eyes darker than ever, hungry. “Please, Lionel.” She got her hands on his chest. Her nailed raked lightly over his neck, his shoulder, across his nipples. She tried to reach lower, to get her hands on his cock.

If he let her, Fusco knew, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but give in and fuck her. He was sure as hell hard enough. But he didn’t want to, not quite yet.

“Let me watch you,” he whispered. “Let me watch your face while you come for me. Let me watch you,” he slipped his hand lower, slipped his middle finger inside her again, “while I finger-fuck you this time.”

She rolled her hip against his erection, frustrated. “But you’re ready, Lionel …”

He pressed and withdrew his finger with a slow, easy rhythm. Despite her earlier orgasms, she remained tight. Slick, ready, but tight. Something else he’d learned from his ex: When you’re hung like a beer can, there is no such thing as too much foreplay. “I am ready,” he said against Raven’s ear, “and I cannot wait to bury my cock in you and fuck you properly. But let me watch you first. Let me do this.”

He added a second finger and continued to work them in and out at the same easy pace.

She rolled her hips up to meet his thrusts. But she rested her hands on his chest and stopped trying to escape, for the moment. Her dark eyes locked onto his. They’d gone faintly dreamy again. Her mouth came open; she licked her bottom lip. “You are very … considerate,” she gasped.

“Nah,” Fusco answered, “I just like to watch.” He moved his hand a little faster. Her hips continued to track with him. He shifted his leg, pulled her thigh a little further to the side. “Open for me,” he said. “That’s it.”

He continued the slow thrusts with his fingers, then put the pad of his thumb on her clit and began to make slow circles.

Her eyes drifted shut. Her mouth opened further, and Fusco watched her tongue dance around as if she were wishing to be kissed. He kissed her. Her tongue tried to conquer his, but he used his stronger, thicker tongue to tame her. He ravished her mouth in the exact rhythm as his fingers.

Her body began to coil.

He drew back from the kiss so he could watch her face. His fingers thrust faster, his thumb circled harder. She squirmed, made little happy wanting noises.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, transfixed.

Raven’s eyes fluttered open. They had gone glassy now, lost in sensation. But Fusco could see her. Feel her.

He was aware that his cock was starting to ache with need, that it was leaking pre-cum in little droplets. That he had been hard for a very long time now. But it was all distant, unimportant. All that mattered, at this moment, was Raven.

He drew his fingers out, added a third, and thrust into her hard and fast. Raven’s head went back as her body arched into the orgasm. Her hips came up off the bed and thrust at him hard even while her inner muscles milked his fingers frantically. He stayed with her, kept finger-fucking her while she came.  She screamed this time, through clenched teeth.   

She was the most beautiful thing Lionel Fusco had ever seen.

The climax seemed to last forever, until her scream finally turned into babbled words. “Stop, oh holy … I can’t … stop!”

Lionel stopped. He eased her hips back down to the bed. Eased his fingers out of her. Stroked his hand gently over her little line of curls, soothing her, calming her.

Her body began to relax.

Lionel put his hand firmly on the inside of her thigh. Then he slid to the floor and knelt at the side of the bed between her knees.

Raven stirred, alarmed. She tried to sit up. “Lionel, no, you can’t, I can’t …”

He grabbed her knees and dragged her to the edge of the bed. Then he put his hands on her hips and held her. Without preamble, without argument, he put his tongue on her slit and licked slowly from her asshole to her clit.

She continued to protest, tried to sit up, to turn away. Lionel lapped at her clit again. He put one hand up blindly, grabbed her breast, and pinched her nipple, hard. “Lie back,” he ordered.

Raven took a deep breath. “Lionel, you can’t …”

His tongue flickered all over her sex. She was wet and salty and sweet and something else, something unfamiliar and wonderful.

“Lionel, _please_ …”

He slid both hands up, caught both nipples, pinched firmly and then twisted in warning. “Lie _back_ ,” he growled again.

She fell back against the bed.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and rolled his thick tongue and probed her cunt with it.

Raven moaned, protest and pleasure. Her hands came down to the back of his head, threaded through his hair, but she didn’t try to push him away.

Fusco licked the sides of her clit, then down the slit again. He lingered on her puckered opening, noted her response. Lapped at her cunt, toyed with her clit again. No one had ever said their liked his fingers before, and certainly no one had ever said they liked his _tongue_. His ex, in fact, had compared kissing him to Frenching a thick-cut slab of bologna. But Raven liked it, and he gave her every reason he could think of to keep liking it.

She came for him, loud and hard. He used his tongue to draw it out as long as he could. When it ended, he stayed right where he was. She pulled at his hair a little, trying to draw him up her body. Instead, Fusco used his thumb and forefinger to hold her lips open. He rolled his tongue into a sharp point and worked the tip of her clit, hard. At the same time he used his other hand and thrust three fingers deep inside her again.

He was pretty sure the noises Raven made were argument, but there were no words. She came again, harder.

He paused, withdrew his fingers, then thrust one, slick with her own juices, into the even tighter opening of her ass.

A dozen strokes inside her, his tongue on her clit, and she came again, hard and loud and long.

She trembled then, gasping for air, and Fusco paused, letting her rest a moment. His cock was throbbing with need now. But it was still less important than she was. He’d never known a woman as responsive as this one. She was like driving one of Wonder Boy’s high-performance sports cars, without limits, free to go as fast and far as he wanted to. Free to test her limits and his own. Free to have any kind of sex he wanted or she wanted. But mostly, free to drive her over the edge over and over and over. Free to pleasure her until she couldn’t take any more.

And he intended to do exactly that, as soon as she caught her breath.

She made a sound, under her heavy breathing. A sound he knew and hadn’t expected. It repeated, hardly more than a whisper under her gasps of pleasure.

Raven was crying.

_I think I ought to feel guilty_ , Fusco thought. He didn’t; there was something deeply satisfying about pleasing a woman until she wept. He did, however, feel a sudden tenderness that had been lost in the frenzy of driving her orgasms. He removed his hands slowly and climbed back onto the bed, covering her without putting any of his weight on her.  There were tears on her cheeks, in her eyes, and he kissed them gently away. “What do you need, Raven?”

Her hand went between them, wrapped around his aching cock. “Please, please,” she whispered. “Please fuck me. Please.”

Fusco grinned at her. “Anything you want.” He kissed her slowly, deeply, giving her time to rest, to calm down. Then he rolled onto his back beside her, reached into the bedside table for a condom.

“You don’t …” she began. Then she stopped, bit her lip. She took the condom from him and sat up. Then she leaned and kissed his cock, mouthed it a little, but she didn’t prolong it. She rolled the condom onto him expertly, with both hands stroking him.

Fusco felt his own eyes roll back a little. He caught her waist with both hands and drew her toward him, urged her to straddle him. Another lesson from his ex: Let a girl take that thing at her own pace. “Go slow,” he said as Raven eased down onto him.

“’kay,” she answered, and then would have impaled herself if he hadn’t stopped her.

“ _Slow_ ,” he repeated firmly.

Her eyes fixed on his. They looked very dark to Fusco now; in the bar he’d thought they were brown, but now they looked almost black. Her mouth was open again, her perfect beautiful mouth. Her breasts. He brought his hands to her breasts, gentle now.

She took him part way into her, drew up, took him again. Working his cock slowly against her persistent  tightness. Slow, as he’d instructed. Deliciously, maddeningly slow. Suddenly he wanted to drive into her. To just fucking take her, claim her as his own, fuck her senseless.  If his hands and his mouth could do it …

“Yesssssss,” Raven hissed, driving him home inside her.

He felt her shudder. Felt her come again, her already-tight muscles contracting and squeezing. He tipped his head back and looked upside down at the headboard, because if he looked into her eyes he knew he was going to come right then, too. She stayed very still, except for her inner convulsions, and he rode it out, feeling every inch of it, clinging to control.

“I knew,” she said, when she could speak again, “I knew it would feel that good to have you inside me.”

Lionel managed to look at her. There were tears in her eyes again, but they were joyful, fulfilled. He grabbed her leg and rolled them both without losing their connection. He held himself up on his arms and thrust into her.

“Yes,” she said again, and then they both ran out of words.

Fusco fucked her. After all the foreplay, all the games, it was as simple as that. And as good. He thrust against her. Her hips drove up against him to meet every thrust. His cock fit into her cunt like they were the halves of a puzzle, perfectly matched. Their rhythms synched easily. They went slow, and then they went fast. Then then went slow again. Every stroke was deep and full. Every one felt better than the last.

_This is all I ever want to do, for the rest of my life,_ Fusco thought in absent wonder. _All I want to do it fuck this woman. This woman. Forever._

But then, inevitably, they were racing toward the finish. Fusco felt the pressure build higher in his balls, felt his body loading for the final explosion. In one way he didn’t want to. In another, he couldn’t wait. He fucked her harder, faster. He could tell from her body, from her sounds, that she was on the edge again, too. He thrust hard, trying to send her over the edge. Her fingertips dug into his shoulder, and he realized she was waiting for him.

He rutted against her like a mad bull and they came together, loud and long and hard.

Lionel collapsed forward, only barely managed to keep his arms under him. He thought he might have blacked out for a moment. But when he came back Raven was still panting under him.

Something from eighth grade, something he’d learned on the street. _Pull out, right, before your cock goes soft, because the condom will fall off_. But his cock wasn’t getting soft. It was as nearly as hard as it had been before. He took a few short experimental strokes and it hardened up at once.

He rolled over, keeping Raven with him. He pushed her upright so she was straddling him again. His cock was still deep within her, still hard. “Lionel,” she murmured.

Fusco put his hands on her spread thighs, moved them upward until his thumbs were on her clit, just above where their bodies joined. “Let me feel it,” he said. “Let me feel you come again.”

Raven’s hands came down and grabbed his wrists. “We can’t, Lionel. I can’t.”

She made a real effort to pull his hands away. But he was much stronger than she was. He teased her clit hard, merciless now. Her body betrayed her; she rose up, came back down, driving his cock into her, and then she seemed to lose control. She rode him fast and hard, driven by his manipulation, and she came with her head back, howling.

There was no resisting a hot, tight cunt that’s trying to milk your cock dry, and Fusco didn’t even try. He climaxed with her.

And he was still hard.

He drew her down against his chest and thrust against her from below. There wasn’t any elegance it, not much drive from that angle. It didn’t matter. He cupped her perfect ass with one hand, then reached further and slipped one finger into her ass from behind. Raven thrashed against him, not resisting but trying to get him deeper. He felt his own cock inside her, moving with his finger, and then she was over the edge again and so was he.

One his best day he’d never been able to orgasm like that, so quickly, in a row.

It didn’t matter. He was still hard. He withdrew his hand, rolled over again, took Raven from above. Drove. She met every thrust.

But their eyes met in mid-stroke and she said, absolutely serious, “Lionel, we have to stop, we have to stop, right now.”

He couldn’t stop. He fucked her until they both came. Then he left his head drop against her chest, closed his eyes, grabbed a deep breath or two, and he was hard and thrusting again.

“Lionel,” she said, and there was a soft horror in her voice.

He lifted his head and looked at her. Raven was — changed.

She was not the woman he’d met in the bar. She was not the woman he’d been fucking all night. She was someone entirely different.

Her face was narrower. Her skin was dead pale. Her eyes and her hair were stark black. Her lips were unnaturally red. Her ears might even have been a little pointed at the tips. She was wild and exotic and nothing he’d ever seen before.

He knew instinctively that she was dangerous.

And deep in his bones, in the old-country instinct he’d inherited from his ancestors, he knew she wasn’t human at all.

He also knew that no force on the planet could stop him from fucking her. There was nothing else in the world. Nothing he wanted, nothing he needed. Nothing but her, her touch, her body, her pleasure. It was an honor, a privilege beyond all comprehension, to have his cock buried inside her. To pleasure her.

Nothing.

She rolled them over and he was afraid she’d leave. He clutched at her frantically. They rolled again, the same direction, and he settled happily on top of her. Thrust, withdraw, thrust. He heard her, felt her. Her body welcomed him. She wanted him. Nothing else mattered.

He was vaguely, distantly aware that she was reaching out for something, groping at the bedside table. That she had something black in her hand. That she was speaking. She was almost incoherent, and she had to stop in the middle when an orgasm caught her, left her breathless. She panted something about ’save him’. Then she rolled them again and she was riding him hard.

_Save him,_ Fusco thought, through a haze. _Save him. Why not save her? Had this somehow slipped into non-consensual? Did she think she needed help to get away?_ Well, she might not be wrong. He couldn’t imagine letting her go. Couldn’t imagine a world where his cock was not buried deep inside her beautiful cunt. Couldn’t imagine living any way but joined to her. But if she wanted to leave …

… why was she on top of him, pumping his cock inside her?

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t matter. They came again, together. Came so hard it hurt.

He stayed hard. He kept fucking her. He couldn’t stop. She couldn’t, either.

He was tired. His arms hurt, and his legs trembled with exhaustion. His cock was actually sore. He couldn’t stop.

Somewhere, very distantly, he became aware that his life itself was pouring away from him. That he was dying. That it was because of this woman who was not a woman at all. That she was killing him. That he couldn’t stop. That she couldn’t stop.

It didn’t matter at all.

If the last thing he ever did in this life was fuck this woman, that was okay.

He felt light, dizzy.

He came again, and Raven came with him.

The light faded from the edges of his view. He felt oddly separated, floating.

And then there was noise. The door cracked open. There was a flash of a black cape —a _cape_? maybe a coat— and there were voices. Loud. Wonder Boy and the Professor.

They were going to take her away from him, Fusco thought frantically. He kept thrusting, because he couldn’t stop, but he also scrambled for his weapon. He’d kill them both, and then he could go on fucking Raven and they couldn’t take her away from him …

Reese flew at him. He didn’t know Reese could fly. But he was airborne and then he knocked him away. They rolled onto the floor. Fusco cursed and clawed and scrambled, desperate to be back with Raven. He saw Finch wrap her in something, a blanket or a robe, something. He had to get back to her. He swung at Reese, connected. Tried to pull himself up on the bed, tried to grab her, Finch, his weapon, something. Had to get her back. Had to be inside her …

A big strong hand on his shoulder swung him around. He saw the fist. And then the world went away.

 ***

When he woke up he was in the center of the bed, flat on his back, naked under a sheet, and Raven was gone.

He knew Raven was gone because his erection was gone and he could think clearly.

Sort of clearly, anyhow. But the only thing he seemed to be able to think was, _what the fuck?_

He lifted his head carefully and looked around. The men were gone, too, Trouble and the Genius had left the building. Fusco brought his hand up and touched his jaw lightly. It was a little sore, puffy. Definitely bruised.

There was a note on the bedside table, a piece of paper folded into a tent and propped there. He rolled onto his side and picked it up.

_Detective –_

_When you wake up, dial 7 on the house phone and breakfast will be provided. Shower, eat, push fluids. Get some sleep. Check-out is noon tomorrow._

_–F_

Fusco put the note down. “Fuck you, too,” he growled. He sprawled onto his back again and stared at the ceiling. His mind went back to _what the fuck?_

There had been Raven. There had been sex. Really, really good sex. His whole body ached. His cock felt like it had been rung out like a dishrag. He was exhausted. So Raven, right, and then sex, and then … and then _what the fuck?_

He was thirsty. And he was starving. He growled again. Then he sat up, slowly, because every muscle in his body hurt, like he’d run a marathon and then been beaten in a cage match. _Rode hard and put away wet._ He smelled like a locker room after a big game. A shower was not such a bad idea.

The pitcher of ice water had been refilled. Fusco reached for it. His hands were shaking. He took a couple deep breaths, got them to steady some. Poured himself a glass of water and chugged it back. The sound of ice clicking in the glass made his cock twitch. He looked down. _So that’s how it’s going to be._ The sound of ice was always going to remind him of her.

He didn’t even want to think what wearing a clip-on tie every day would do to him.

_What the fuck?_

He poured another glass of water, intending to sip it. He chugged it instead. The water hit him stomach, cold, and took the edge off his hunger. He knew it wouldn’t last. “Well, fuck,” he grumbled. He picked up the phone and dialed 7.

A pleasant woman’s voice said that his order would be up promptly.

Fusco thanked her and put the phone down. He had no idea what he’d ordered. But if the Professor could pick out a hooker for him, he could probably trust him to order breakfast.

He staggered to his feet and made his way to the shower.

There were two foil packets of ibuprofen next to the sink. He opened them and took all four tablets. Then he stood under the hot water spray forever.

It helped, some.

His head cleared, some.

He was really hungry.

When he’d dried off and brushed his teeth with the hotel’s toothbrush and toothpaste, shaved with the hotel’s disposable razor and put on the hotel’s very nice robe, he walked more-or-less steadily out to the main room again. The smell hit him like a fist. There were two room service carts waiting for him. Six silver domes. A carafe of orange juice, a whole pot of coffee.

He sat down in the arm chair — the same chair where he’d spanked Raven’s perfect ass — and pulled the nearest cart over to him.

There were eggs and bacon and sausage and ham. There were pancakes with a side of French toast. There were Danish pastries. There was a big bowl of cut-up fruit, which Fusco would normally have ignored, but this time they all tasted amazing. There was a bowl of grits. There was toast and jam.

He ate until he thought he was going to burst. He drank all of the orange juice and most of the coffee. He staggered back to the bathroom and pissed forever. Then he fell back into the bed. The sheets were fresh; evidently they’d changed the bed when the brought the food. They didn’t smell like Raven any more. Lionel mourned that loss, distantly. He didn’t smell like her, either. It was all fading already, slipping away from his memory. _What the fuck?_

Then he slept.

 ***

Mr. Tall Dark and Deadly snuck up on him, as he always did, but this time Fusco barely jumped when the big hand landed on his shoulder. “You’re late,” he grumbled.

“I was busy,” Reese answered. He slid into the chair across the little table from the detective. “I didn’t think libraries were your thing, Lionel.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not meeting you in bars any more. Ever.” Fusco looked around. There was no one close to them in the reading room. He looked at the big old book that was on the table in front of him. It was closed, but he had it bookmarked. “I didn’t think hired killers were _your_ thing. I always figured when you wanted me dead, you’d just come right at me.”

 “I wasn’t trying to kill you, Lionel.”

“Yeah, sure. When you put me in bed with a succubus, what the fuck did you _think_ was going to happen?”

Reese just looked at him, calm, silent.

Fusco flipped the book open, turned it around and shoved it across the table to him. “Her,” he said, tapping a drawing with his fingertip. “Right here. That’s her, isn’t it?”

John leaned forward and studied the picture. “It’s a good likeness. How’d you find this?”

“I’m a fucking detective, remember?” He didn’t add that it was plain dumb luck; he’d looked through twenty books, reading up on what he thought she was, before he’d stumbled across it. “Says here that drawing was made in 1790,” Fusco continued. He pulled the book back, looked at the picture again. It was just black and white, but it was definitely Raven. The way she’d been at the end, exotic, with the black eyes and the pointed ears. In the drawing, her dress was pushed down off her shoulders, her breasts were bare, her head thrown back. She looked exactly like he remembered her. “So what the fuck?”

He wondered why he suddenly couldn’t stop swearing. It probably had to do with Raven. It was impossible for him to think of her and not have _fuck_ come out of his mouth.  

There was a long pause. Then Reese said, “You’re right, Lionel. If I want you dead, I’ll do it myself, and I’ll make sure you see it coming.”

“So what’s with the girl, then? The not-girl. The whatever the fuck she is.”

“You needed to get laid. She needed to get laid.” Reese shrugged elegantly. “It seemed like an optimal solution.”

Fusco tapped the drawing again. “Optimal. There’s a difference between getting fucked and getting fucked to death. You know that, right? Why’d you put us together, if you didn’t want her to kill me? Because that’s what succubuses do.”

“Succubi,” Reese corrected absently. He looked around the room slowly. Then he looked at the picture again. “This is what she was. What she is.” he finally said, “But she doesn’t enjoy killing. She doesn’t take life from the unwilling anymore.”

“What’s that even mean?” Fusco scowled.

“She feeds on sexual energy,” he explained. “You already knew that. But most of the time she’s satisfied to feed on the pleasure, hers and her partner’s. She doesn’t need to kill. And when she does, she finds men who are already dying, or those who want to die.”

The detective stared at him.

“She fed fully — she killed — only a few months ago. She didn’t need your life energy, Lionel. She just needed to get laid. It was supposed to be good exhausting sex, for both of you. Nothing more.”

That actually made a sort of sense to Fusco. Sort of. “So what went wrong?”

“You did.”

“Me?”

“Most men meet Raven, they take her, they get off, get her off, maybe a couple times, and that’s the end of the story.” Reese shrugged, uncomfortable. “You … over-performed. Exceeded expectations.”

“Yeah, bullshit.”

Reese shook her head. “Believe me, Lionel, it’s killing me to say this. It has been three hundred and twelve years since Raven lost control like that. Converted when she didn’t want to. Since she fed without intention.”

“Because of me.”

“Because you … gave. When most men would have just taken.”

Fusco sat back and stared at him. The Man in the Suit could be a sarcastic son of a bitch, cruel at times, but he was being dead honest right now. The fact that he obviously didn’t like what he was having to say just made it more convincing.  “So this is my fault.”

“You gave her more than she expected. More than she could handle. Honestly, Lionel, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well, let me tell _you_ something,” Fusco snapped, leaning forward until they were nearly nose to nose.  “I’m guessing you don’t know this, with that face and all, but if a girl like her gives a mutt like me a shot, you can be damn sure I’m going to make it worth her while.”

“Oh, you did,” Reese smirked. He sat back. “You definitely did.”

“And if she hadn’t managed to call you …”

“You’d be dead. They’d probably call it a heart attack. Charge extra to get the big grin off your face.”

“So … I’m supposed to thank you for saving my life. Is that it?”

The big guy shrugged. “You could, but I’d know you weren’t sincere. And I should apologize for putting your life in danger, but I wouldn’t be sincere, either. Everybody walked away. Let it go.”

“Just like that. Just forget about it.”

He stared at the drawing in the book again.

Reese closed the book gently. “Just forget about it.”

“Can I ever see her again?”

“Not unless you develop a death wish.”

Fusco sighed heavily. He took the book back, but he didn’t open it. He was keeping it. He’d tell the library it was evidence or something.

“And by the way,” Reese added, “Raven asked me to tell you that she is very, very sorry.”

He had a flash of memory. The way she tasted, smelled, sounded. Felt. His whole body tingled, and then it was gone.

It hurt, that it was gone.

The big guy was looking at him like he knew exactly what he was feeling. Fusco looked away, shrugged. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You know,” Reese said, “a night with Raven, a guy can learn an awful lot about himself.”

Lionel looked back at him. Raven had told him up front that the two of them had hooked up. But now he didn’t feel competitive about it now. Not even creepy, though it felt like it should have been. Just two guys with something pretty damn amazing in common. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly.

“There’s nothing that says you can’t take what you learned and use it other places.”

He considered that idea. With Rhonda, maybe? He needed to call her, anyhow. If she dumped the loser boyfriend — things could be very different, next time around. If she didn’t, well, New York City was a target-rich environment. The killer in the suit might not be wrong. “I don’t know,” he answered slowly. “If I’m too much for a mythical creature like Raven, I don’t know how a mortal woman would even survive it.”

Reese’s mouth tightened into a tight little line. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. But like he didn’t disagree, either. “Don’t let it go to your head, stud.”

“ _Garanhão_ ,” Fusco remembered. “Maybe Sofia was right about that.”

Reese groaned, rolled his eyes exactly the way he had the first time he’d heard it. “There’s just going to be no living with you now, is there?”

Lionel stood up and picked up the book. “No more blind dates, alright?”

“I don’t know, Lionel. Now that we’ve uncovered this hidden talent, it would be a shame not to put it to use.”

There was teasing in his sharp blue eyes, but there was also a look of unveiled speculation. Lionel shuddered a little, imaging the sorts of assignments this might lead to.

Still, it might be interesting ….

Raven had cracked the door open on some interesting kinks. Suddenly Fusco was wondering what Wonder Boy liked after dark.

And he couldn’t shake the mental image of the Professor lacing the woman into that brutally tight corset.

It was all terrifying. Like looking over a cliff when he was already too close to the edge.

He had made an ancient sex goddess come until she cried. He wondered what he could do to a tight-ass mortal like John Reese. He was looking over the cliff, for sure. And he knew damn good and well, if he got the chance, he was going to jump. 

_And where did that thought even come from? What the fuck?_

_Keep it up. Raven might get you killed yet._

He shook his head. Then he went to steal a book.

 ***


End file.
